


Dean's Super Secret Hunter Journal - Keep Out! (This Means You, Sammy!)

by cinderellasleftshoe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, brothers against the world, religous drug use, semi canonical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-02 05:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11502474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderellasleftshoe/pseuds/cinderellasleftshoe
Summary: A journal of Dean Winchester's private thoughts.





	1. Title Page

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this is going to go yet, but I like the idea that Dean has an internal life that is often at war with his external desire to take care of everyone around him, to never back down from a fight, and to save the world.
> 
> This journal begins with season 1. It's sort of canonical, but I'll be adding in scenes I imagine to have happened offscreen.
> 
> I have no update schedule, but I will add at least one chapter a week, until I run out of seasons or until we all get sick of me, either one. And I'll add tags as this goes along.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first page of Dean's journal. Over the years, he comes to wish he'd written it in pencil instead of ink.

**Private Journal**

**of**

**Dean Winchester, Hunter**

**Keep Out**

**This Means You, Sammy!**


	2. September 13, 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1.1 "Pilot"

September 13, 2005

* * *

 

Hey Journal,

Yeah, I've decided to keep a journal, what of it? It's not like it's girly or anything. Dad keeps a journal. And it's not like there's anything wrong with girls or girly things. I like girls. I like girly things. I like doing girly things with girls. 

 

So, dad is missing. He said he was going to do a hunt, and it was no big deal. But he was acting shifty when he left, not making eye contact and not being straight about where he was headed. He left me the Impala. I hung back for a couple of weeks, just shooting pool and picking up odd jobs. I painted this old lady's house, and she made me arty little tea sandwiches and cookies. Her name was Rose. She wanted me to meet her granddaughter. Which, you know, I painted faster. She paid cash.

 

I hung out with a guy named Sean for a couple of days just fishing on the river. He spelled it like that, Sean. Not Shawn. Or, I guess his parents spelled it like that, whatever. He's named for his grandfather from the old country. I told him I was named for my grandmother, and he laughed, and then I kicked the crap outta him because my grandma was a badass. At least that's what dad said. I don't remember ever meeting her. Sean thought picking himself up out of the dirt was funny, congratulated me, and bought the pitchers of beer that night. Irish dudes, man.

 

I tuned up the Impala and waxed her on a sunny day. After I let a group of high school girls in cutoff shorts and bikini tops wash her for a cheerleading fundraiser. Yeah, a bunch of half naked high school cheerleaders with soapy sponges and water hoses. Bet they made bank. Total jailbait. Still fun to flirt though.

 

But more than a week and dad didn't come back for me. And he wasn't answering his phone, so I headed to Sammy's. Mistake.

 

Jesus, that was a major fuck up.

 

Sammy, it turned out, had it good. His own just-off-campus apartment with a gorgeous babe named Jess. Blonde hair, legs forever, pretty face, apparently a med student. She's dead now. Exactly like mom. Burned alive on the fucking ceiling. 

 

Sammy wants revenge, and he decided to quit school and hit the road with me. Yeah, I miss the kid something awful, but I can't help thinking that if I hadn't come for him, I wouldn't have fucked up his life, and his dream girl would still be alive. I'd have had a doc for a sister-in-law. Goddammit. In ten years, they could have been Dr and Mr Winchester, the surgeon and the lawyer, with the McMansion and the three kids, two dogs, a cat, and some fucking gerbils. Nieces and nephews playing in the sprinklers in the yard while Jess and I drank beer on the back porch and Sammy grilled steaks. Hot dogs for the kids. 

 

No, I didn't want this for Sammy. 

 

But, it's done now. And he's going with me to find dad. Journal, I don't know. I hope we find him soon so Sammy can get back to law school. Where he belongs.

 


	3. September 20, 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1.2 "Wendigo"

September 20, 2005

* * *

Dear Journal, 

I killed a Wendigo. Yep. That's right, badass Dean Winchester killed a Wendigo. Shot the fucker with a flare gun and burned it alive. It was really fun. Super fucking scary, but fun.

 

Met a hot girl named Hailey, and helped her and her brother, Ben, find their older brother Tommy who went missing up on Blackwater Ridge, a remote-ass forest-y spot in bumfuck Colorado. 

 

We trudged around in the woods playing tag with the beast. (Yeah, I hate camping.) Eventually found Tommy in a mineshaft. Running, screaming, shoot out, flames. Thing went up like tinder, smelled like burnt chicken. Fucking mess. We told the rangers it was a big-assed grizzly. Because they weren't gonna believe Tommy got grabbed by a monster. Sucks though because the rangers are going after the grizzly, and bears are cool as fuck.

 

It's great hunting with Sammy. I love that kid. I've missed him. I even let him drive my Baby. Two bros out on the road, hunting monsters and looking for dad. 

 

He's having nightmares, and he won't tell me about them. Kid's hiding something. I'm worried, Journal.


	4. October 4, 2005 - I hate flying!!!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1.4 "Phantom Traveler"

October 4, 2005

* * *

 

Hola Diario!

Things I hate:

  * flying
  * demons
  * monkey suits
  * Latin
  * touchy-feely, self-help yoga crap
  * smart-assed little brothers



 

Yeah, hot flight attendants aside, this hunt sucked ass. Friend of dad's, Jerry - that air traffic controller guy - called us because he couldn't get ahold of dad. Of course he couldn't. I told Jerry dad was wrapped up in a hunt. Sam was actually cool about dad, said something nice about him to Jerry. 

 

I forged us new Homeland Security IDs and got us into the site where the plane wreckage from this crash Jerry wanted us to look into was stored. We got chased out by the actual Homeland Security types. We jumped a fence, it was awesome.

 

We got on a flight with a fucking demon and a hot stewardess, and there was a showdown. Sam recited the exorcism, but the demon seemed to know something about Jess' demon murder, and Sam got distracted. Which, yeah, Journal, don't get distracted during an exorcism ritual. The demon jumped the possessed dude and then possessed the plane instead and tried to crash it, oh joy.  We almost died. It was fine though. Sammy finished the exorcism and the plane stabilized. I didn't get a kiss from Amanda like I did Hailey. So that kind of sucked. Killing monsters should get you kisses, yeah? 

 

Anyway, I had to tell Sammy that demons lie to keep him from asking about why the demon knew Jess. I don't need him to worry. I'm already worried enough for both of us. At the end of the hunt, Jerry told us dad left my cell number on his voicemail message. So Sam and I called it, and yep, there it was, my number. Dad's alive, and he hasn't fucking called us. Me and Sam are pissed together, so I guess that's better than being pissed at each other. 

 

 

Oh yeah, Journal, I hate almost dying too.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. October 16, 2005

October 16, 2005

* * *

 Heya Mr Journal, 

For this entry, I've decided you're a dude.

I met a girl working in a bar in Norman, Oklahoma where we'd stopped for the night. Her name's Kit, and she's beautiful.

She took me back to her place, and we hooked up. Kit is tall, not as tall as I am, obviously, but only a few inches shorter. She plays basketball for the university. She's Cherokee. She fucks kind of rough, but I think it's just that she's athletic and strong that I thought it was rough. She could push me around, which I admit, is hotter than I thought it would be. Still, we took our time, which you know is what I like. I like to take it slow and draw it out.

I'm not writing this down to be creepy. Not a notch on the bedpost or a way of keeping score. I just like her. The softness of her skin and the hardness of her muscles. The strength in her legs when I went down on her, and that she let me do it twice. The sounds she made. The way she tasted. 

Journal, I hope Kit has a good life. Go Sooners!


	6. October 19, 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on 1.6 "Skin"

October 19, 2005

* * *

 

Yo Journal!

I feel like I need the longest, hottest shower. Or one of those cleanse things they do at fancy camps in the woods where you eat bark and berries all day and get massages or whatever until you shit the ick right out of you. I feel like I need that.

Sammy got an email from his friend Becky about her brother Zach being arrested for the murder of his girlfriend. You know I'd do anything for Sammy, but I dragged my feet when he brought up wanting to go to St Louis to help. Complained it was behind us on the highway. I guess I'm having a good time on the road with him, and I know we need to find dad, and I know I want Sam back at Stanford where he belongs. It's just good to be together, you know? And I didn't want his friends to remind him that he'd rather be in class, and I didn't want to embarrass him being more comfortable in a bar fight than in a family room. Like, it's not the college kids, obviously. Kit and I hit it off on our way through Norman. It's that the world has people like me, people like Sam's friends, and people like mom. Soldiers, scholars and priests.

The thing with Becky got so fucked up. There was a shapeshifter, and he fucked with our heads. It reminded me just how much has gone unsaid between me and Sammy. And I know that's because of me. Because I lock it down so he cant really talk to me about anything real. Because I'm afraid of what I'll say. That kid is fearless. I'd rather face a dozen shape shifters than let him down, Journal. What does that say about me? 

 


	7. October 21, 2005

October 21, 2005

* * *

 

Psst Journal! 

On our way through New Mexico, I bought some venison jerky from a woman selling by the side of the road. It was "Christmas" flavored, which means some were red chile and some were green chile. So good -- best I've ever had. Jerky is the perfect road food because you can eat it with your hands while you're driving, and it's so chewy it keeps you busy for awhile. It's salty, so you need lots of water and coffee. But I was going to be drinking that anyway.

 

Favorite Flavors of Jerky Ranked

  1. Christmas
  2. Cajun
  3. Honey Sriracha
  4. Chili Lime
  5. Pineapple Teriyaki 
  6. Mesquite BBQ
  7. Smokehouse BBQ
  8. Thai Chile
  9. Sweet & Spicy
  10. Maple




	8. November 17, 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1.9 "Home"

November 17, 2005

* * *

 

Journal, I'm not feeling up to being funny.

Something is going on with Sam. He had some kind of vision or premonition that led back to the Lawrence house. God, I hate even thinking about home. Why would I ever willingly go back there. I didn't want to, like at all. But Sammy ... you know, Sammy wasn't going to let it go.

Here's what happened: Sam had a vision about bad shit going down at the Lawrence house, we went there - it was bad. A mom and her kids were being threatened by spirits. We talked to an old buddy of dad's, and it turns out dad had been going off the rails for longer than I knew. His journal led us to a psychic he knew, Missouri. She helped up purify the house, or so we thought. But Sam didn't think so. We sat on the house and saw the mom screaming like in Sam's dream, and I got the kids out but the house locked Sam in. Mom showed up, saved him, apologized and left. 

I called and left dad a message about how fucked up this whole thing is. But even though I pleaded, he didn't come help. Or call back. Or even acknowledge he's still alive. 

And what's the deal with a psychic knowing dad maybe better than we do? I hate it when people are keeping things from me, and I know that Missouri knew more than she was saying. I mean, I appreciate her help and all, but Jesus Christ it's like every time I learn something about dad, it puts me farther away from finding him not closer. It's getting harder and harder to avoid concluding that dad doesn't fucking want to be found. At least not by me.

This whole thing give me the shakes -- I'm so scared for Sammy. I don't know what's going on with him or if it's dangerous or if mom and dad knew about it or anything. I need some fucking help here, and there's no one. Why did dad leave me? Did I something wrong?

That house, Journal, I missed it so much. Or, rather, I missed what it used to be. The place where everything was simple. Where I was safe and loved. Where mom and I were besties, yeah, I said besties like a junior high girl, whatever, mom was my bestie. We played and read and napped on the couch in front of the tv when dad was working long hours at the garage. She made me PBJ sandwiches and she cut the crusts off and then cut the sandwich into triangles. And after she and dad would put me to bed at night and read me a story, I'd like awake and hear them laughing from downstairs. Sometimes he chased her through the house, and I could hear her taunting him and giggling as they ran. I was thinking about that the other day. Drinking my coffee and staring at my pancakes, and I suddenly realized that in those days, they were only a couple of years older than I am now. God, they were so happy. 

Journal, will I ever feel that way again? Will I ever be content? 


	9. November 19, 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester drops so many literary references into his dialogue over 12 seasons of Supernatural, and I think that's really interesting. So much fic is themed around Sam the Booksmart One/Dean the Streetsmart One, when really, Dean reads a lot. I mean, no character ever exposits in dialogue, "Dean, you sure read a lot." It's that Dean is seen reading, with books around him, with snarky references to writers and classic lit. I think it's more accurate that Sam is more formally educated, and Dean is self taught. But they're both clearly wicked smart. 
> 
> Anyway, Dean is a reader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This book is The Sirens of Titan by Vonnegut.

November 19, 2005.

* * *

 So, Journal,

Sam wanted to spend some time in the library on the computers doing a favor for one of his college friends. There was some paper he was helping someone edit and they were working on it together over the internet, so I had a couple of hours to walk around the "historic district," which in most places just means old. I thumbed through the vinyl in a used record store that smelled great. It was like a mix of dust, waxy album paper, reefer, nag champa, stale coffee and wet cement. Skinny kid in glasses and a bowl cut was working behind the register. I was the only customer in there, but he seemed to be filling orders off his computer. I asked him about it, and he said their inventory was listed on the internet and people ordered their shit from the website - "e-commerce." I thought about that while I sifted through all the bins of old records. This is just another small town old storefront, with its concrete floors and battered album covers and used records. But if you look closely, everything's got a barcode slip tucked inside the album covers. And everything is inventoried in this computer database, and the orders come in from the internet. I feel that, you know, that collision of past and future. Like, monster hunting is so old because monsters were on this earth before, or at least as long as, people. But Sam is just a kid. If he'd stayed with dad, he'd have become an incredible hunter. Better than dad, better than anyone dad knew, probably. Because he thinks differently, and he's able to do stuff like edit papers with people across the country. His mind just doesn't hesitate at that. Hunting monsters is old news, but Sam is the future. I should probably talk to him about this record shop thing.

I found a used bookstore and traded that copy of Titan I finished reading last week for A Canticle for Leibowitz. The guy who runs the shop recommended it. He says it's about life in New Mexico after the apocalypse. The nuclear kind, I think. The guy's name was Calvin, and he was a retired high school English teacher. We talked about the book for awhile, about how Titan is a mindtrip because it's all about how we don't have free will even though we think we do. Like, these space travelers know all time at the same time, so they know what will happen in the future and they manipulate stuff so that people think they can make choices and change things, but really there's no changing anything. Cal says it's like how people believe in god and how god decides everyone's destiny. So people live out their whole lives like they're just along for the ride. Believing in god and destiny keeps everyone passive and complacent, Cal says.

I dont know. I think it's more that people are fucking busy just keeping food on their tables and a roof over the heads of their kids that they don't have the time or energy leftover to see the monsters. But if you wake them up to it, they can see 'em. And they'd' totally do something about it if they had to, at least most people would, I think. And if we don't have free will, then what's the fucking point? Like, Sammy and me. If we aren't destined to find dad, then we won't find dad. And what's the fucking point then? We should just find a cheap motel attached to a good diner and wait out destiny until dad finds us. Or he doesn't. Whatever our destiny is. Which is fucking bullshit. Because if dad is alive, I can find him. And I'll say this to just you Journal, I can find dad even if he doesn't want to be found. Because while he was looking in the other direction, I got just as good as he is. And I've got Sammy with me and dad doesn't. I'll fucking bet on me and Sammy every time on every goddamned day of the week.

And speaking of god. If he's there, he can go fuck himself. Because I miss my mom. And that shit just isn't ever going to be fair or just or whatever it is that god is supposed to stand for. And if I ever meet that bastard, well, I'll tell him so myself.

 


	10. January 4, 2006

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean thinks about things while working with his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during the December-January hiatus

January 4, 2006

* * *

Bueño! Digame, Journal! 

It's been awhile. I've been busy.

After Sam and I ganked a bunch of ghosts and torturers and generally had a shitty Thanksgiving skulking around a haunted asylum and trying to not die, we got drunk.

We filled our green chest with ice and beer, then we got a bag of bbq sandwiches and sweet potato fries and drove out to the boondocks. We ate and drank and stared up at the stars until they all blurred together. There was still salt in Sam's shoe, which was fucking hilarious after ten beers.

We smoked some weed and decided we deserved a better holiday than this horror movie plot bullshit. Yeah. 

We slept under the stars, and the next morning, we drove back into town and hustled some pool and did some odd job for a few days. Sam tutored some kids in math, and I did some handyman work around the house for Mrs Stevenson, a lonely 30-something wife of a marketing exec.

I slept with her because she's kind and pretty, and hurt and angry that the dick husband, Daniel, who is balding and paunchy, is fucking his intern. I was there two days, and I could see her point, man. Carrie and Daniel have two kids, and that can wear a woman out when she's got no help at home. But Carrie figures it out. She gets them off to school, keeps the house, does the cooking and lunches, and she teaches classes down at the community center. She runs every day and makes it to the gym three times a week for weight training. She does PTA and carpool and all that family stuff. And their house is gorgeous, and the kids are cute, and she's petite and sweet and generous. And this fucker Daniel decides it's time to trade in his 36-year-old wife for a fucking 21-year-old intern. Some people just don't fucking know what they have.

I mean, I'm not opening up an escort service for revenge sex for scorned spouses or anything. But I like Carrie -- she's funny and silly when she's with her kids. Her skin was soft and her curves were lush, and she was all silken surrender beneath my hands in bed. She came in an arch of her spine, a few soft pleas, and Daniel's name on her lips. And then she was embarrassed, but I mean, why? He's the love of her life and her college sweetheart. Hate doesn't burn out a love like that. I stretched out in that king size bed, with its white sheets, and fluffy pillows, in a bedroom with the walls painted a willow green that was soft and inviting in the afternoon light filtering through the white curtains. And I pulled her to me and she cried while I held her. Then she started trembling, and  I tugged her in tighter, which was when I realized she was laughing. When she finally got through her cathartic revenge fuck-cry-laugh, she snugged into my chest, told me I was strong and that she bet I was dangerous. I told her I'd never hurt her if she were mine. Then I let her take some pics. Maybe I shouldn't have, but I know what I look like. She didn't deserve that intern bullshit. She can roll her own dice.

She told me I could shower, but it was nearly time for the kids to be home, and so I told her that I needed to pick up Sam. I wasn't ready to wash Carrie off of my skin quite yet. She gave me two thousand bucks that was in a box in the closet - 1k for the 2 1/2 days of home repairs and 1k for the fuck and the photos. I didn't want to take it all, but she said it was "just egg money," and then she kissed me and told me to be safe. Goddammit, journal. There was nothing hinky about her house, but I carved a few runes behind eaves and inside cabinets where no one would see them. It won't protect her from shitty husbands and their midlife crises, but the ghosts and ghouls will walk on by. And that's all I got. 

After our pockets were full of cash -- don't ask me how Sam makes $800 tutoring anyone. I didn't ask. But I know there was a hickie on his collarbone. Whatever. We're adults. We drove south, crossing the border into Sonora, Mexico, and kept driving until we hit a little beachy community outside of Hermosillo. We rented a room from the Garces family, and Sam hit it off right away with the twin son and daughter, Isaac and Belén Garces, who were home for the holidays from el Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. I helped Mr Garces do some work on his car, and I spent more than a little time in Mrs Garces kitchen. She taught me a few things and fed me a lot. We swam in the ocean and napped in the sun and celebrated Las Posadas. Which was basically awesome street food, music, dancing, and religious-y things with candles and outfits. 

We were only going to stay a week, but then Sam and Isaac were helping put a new roof on the priest's cottage at the church in town, and I helped Mr Garces build a new fence around his yard and then Belén and I expanded the garden and put in more trellises for the jasmine. And then, I don't know, the Garces had friends who needed fences put up, cars repaired, shutters painted, gardens and courtyards improved, it just kept going. More beach afternoons and more kitchen time with Mrs Garces who improved both my Spanish and my roasting and braising techniques. Those was some great meals around the dinner table. And then in the evenings, Sam and Isaac and Belén would play soccer with some other young people in the street. Sometimes I played with them, and sometimes I sat on the patio and drank mezcal with Mr Garces while he told me stories of when he and Mrs Garces were just kids growing up together. 

The days flew by and it was time for Isaac and Belén to head back to university. They took Sam with them. The priest had made a call to someone who called someone else, and Sam was going to do a week-long, intensive seminar at the university in archival research and preservation. He was totally geeking out about it, and journal, honestly, I was glad to see it. I told him I'd drive back up into the states and pick up a any tips on dad along the way, and then meet him in Denver on January 8.

I said goodbye to the Garces and we hugged too long on the front lawn. I drove north, stopping along the way for food and information. I crossed the border at Sasabe and spent the night drinking with an older native couple. They took me home with them because she wanted to observe me for a couple of days and see if she couldn't help with the shadows following me. I mended another fence and painted another house for them. And I drank some peyote tea she gave me and laid out on the hood of Baby, under the stars, and listened to them whisper to me as my stomach roiled and the nausea choked my throat. My mom sang to me and Sammy, while Dad painted the house, mended the fence, and mowed the lawn. The shadows danced beyond the fence line, and dad turned his back on us and walked through the fence and into the churning darkness. And when Sam walked toward the fence, the darkness stilled and then retreated, but Dad wasn't there anymore. And when Sam turned back around, he was holding a sword. And I rolled to my left and puked over the side of Baby. And then I washed my face and rinsed my mouth from the garden hose, got into Baby and drove off into the sunrise.

I spend a lot of time worrying that I'm not enough, and a lot of time feeling like I'm just too much. 

It was nice to take a vacation from myself for awhile, and nice to get my fill of good food and good sleep for a change. It's tough to think about what I've lost. But, fuck, man. At least I know what I have.

 


End file.
